Pricking Achille's Heel
by Tungsten
Summary: Events unfold after the Triwizarding Tournament. Story centers around Minerva McGonagall, but involves many familiar and some not so familiar characters.
1. Azkaban Breached

Pricking Achilles' Heel

The Weasley house was in an uproar, even after the Weasley children had been sent outside. Wizard after wizard kept streaming from the stuffy congested fireplace, tracking ash and dust across the clean family rug. Mr. Weasley rushed madly into the family room, three chairs tucked beneath each arm, and a stool balanced on his head. Still, there was nowhere to sit, and he had to resort to Transfiguring the slipper rack into a six-person sofa. To the casual observer this seemed to be some sort of party, but in actuality, this convention was a meeting called by Albus Dumbledore.

            In the kitchen, Molly frantically diced onions while minding the pots of sauce and stew that sloshed furiously over the stove. It was never an easy task to cook for thirty some wizards, even with the aid of magic.

            There was a knock on the door and Arabella Figg and Minerva McGonagall entered the kitchen. 

            "We thought you'd like a bit of company," offered Arabella, as she began chopping a head of lettuce. She was a short bony witch with a slight bend in her back. But although she was old, she wasn't dreary or old-fashioned. In fact, she was quite upbeat, and everything she did was fast. Quite athletic, she wore a magenta jogging suit and orange sneakers. "The guys are playing with Arthur's Muggle power tools."

            Mrs. Weasley sighed a hopeless sigh as Minerva awkwardly rolled up her sleeves before plunging her hands into a basin of dirty dishes.

            There was a loud thump and the Weasley twins and Ginny trooped through the back door, each carrying a case of Filibuster Fireworks and a scorched broomstick.

            "We tied rockets to our brooms. Ron was a bit ambitious."

            "Seven fireworks--"

            "Burst clear out of sight—"

            "Should be back in an hour or two—"

            "In time for dinner."

            "Oh, hullo Professor," George said, noticing his Head of House. "Of course we'd be glad to be Head Boy."

            "Thank you for the honor," said Fred most seriously, bowing slightly.

            Then, the twins rushed up the stairs, as Ginny followed, giggling. 

            After Gunther Flitwick preformed a sound-containing spell over the living room (to keep the Weasley twins from eavesdropping), Alastor Moody, the eldest of the wizards present, commenced the meeting.

            "I'm not sure what's keeping Albus," he said gruffly, "but we're to start anyways. Now I expect all of you have raised defenses for your family, because once Voldemort sees you as a threat, he will exterminate you and everyone you know. If this bothers you, you can leave."

            No one stood up, but as Moody observed each witch and wizard in the Weasley's family room, he did notice some of the younger ones tremble uneasily. He could also see Molly and Arthur exchanging glances. Out of all the wizards here, he knew that only the Weasleys had children to worry about. And yet they still joined when Dumbledore had asked them for help.  

            Clearing his throat, Moody continued, "Hagrid and Madame Maxime should be back around dinnertime to tell us if the giants wish to begin an alliance. They had better agree, for the Dementors have already sided with Voldemort. Azkaban has been breached."

             This was met with much shock and disbelief. Molly gasped and gripped her husband's hand very tightly, as if she expected loose Dementors to stroll by the Burrow any moment. 

            "Fudge should have listened to us," Sirius burst, angrily. "We told him Azkaban would fall, that the Dementors couldn't be trusted."

            "When did this happen?" asked Professor McGonagall, her voice upset. 

            "Yesterday."

            "Why didn't they tell us?"

             "The Ministry didn't want to panic the public," said Arthur Weasley, sadly. "They didn't even tell me."

            Arabella tossed her head. "They were never helpful anyway…we can do without them."

"But with the Dementors on his side…" 

            "He's approached the werewolves and vampires, too."

            "But that's just rumors!"

            "They are true," said Snape, who stood in the corner. He preferred to stand, though there was room enough on the couch between Sirius and Remus.

            "We must go into hiding. But more importantly, what is You-Know-Who planning, now that's he has returned?"

            "He's going to kill Harry Potter."

            "Yes, eventually," said Mundungus Fletcher, impatiently, sitting cross-legged and tapping his fingernail on his shoe. He was a tall and limber man, and could have been a tap dancer. "But that's just a highlight, not his primary aim."

            "Attack Hogwarts, then, come September. He'd destroy a generation of wizards in one sweep."

            "Not while Dumbledore's there," said Sirius, adamantly. Remus nodded in agreement. 

            "You-Know-How's not going to wait," said McGonagall, haltingly, for the words felt strange to say. She didn't know that she was whispering. "The war is begun."

            Fletcher opened his mouth to disagree, but whatever he was going to say got drowned out in the noise that followed.

            There was a heavy thump, and the fire in the fireplace glowed green for a moment. A shower of dark ash floated down. 

            Sirius whipped out his wand, as Remus crouched into a fighting stance. 

            "Minerva," came the voice from within chimney, hollow with echoes, "My beard's caught."

            After a very delicate extrication, Albus Dumbledore emerged, covered in black soot from beard to toe. 

            "Good day. I'm sorry I'm late. I went to investigate what's left of Azkaban."

            "Yes?" inquired Moody, clearly curious.

            "We can discuss that later. I'd better tell Hagrid not to come by Floo."

Molly reddened in embarrassment and asked her husband why he hadn't cleaned the chimney as he had promised. 

            "I'll give you a hand, sir," volunteered a young man about Bill's age that had come with Mundungus Fletcher. In fact, Arthur didn't even know his name. He was one of the younger wizards in the group, probably only a child during the terror of Voldemort's reign.  

            "I'm Wallace Whitman. I excel at chimney sweeping."

            The meeting dissolved into what was supposed to be light conversation as they waited for dinner and Hagrid's arrival. Arabella and Mundungus were sampling lemon drops and other Muggle sweets while Moody joined Snape in the corner. 

            "You see," said Wallace to Mr. Weasley, as he jammed a broom up the chimney, "I graduated from Auror college, only to find there were no openings for the job. Having battled You-Know-Who, all the senior members were very experienced and they didn't need a wet-behind-the-ears youngster like me. So, I worked at Madam Malkin's for bit, before hiring myself out as a chimney sweep. It's actually quite profitable. Everyone uses Floo in Diagon Alley, but no one likes the cleaning involved afterwards."

            Gunther Flitwick was showing Dumbledore a small trinket that looked like a collar pin. He had a whole box filled with them. 

            "This is an advanced Portkey, and when you nudge it twice and say '_skram_', it transports you back to Hogwarts. In fact, you can even use your chin to do it, if your hands are tied up." He pinned one on Severus. "It looks very sharp, indeed."

            In another corner of the room, Sirius, Remus, and Professor McGonagall were talking.

            "So you're an Animagus." The word illegal floated briefly into McGonagall's mind.

            "Yes, but unfortunately Peter knows my disguise," said Sirius, hands clenched into fists. "The rat."

            "We'll need new Animagii spies, then. This is going to be a long, dark battle and Professor Snape shouldn't have to carry the full brunt of the work."

            "Perhaps Wallace over there," Remus gestured. "You could teach him."

             Sirius asked, "What about you, Minerva? You're a cat."

            "Every Death Eater out of Hogwarts knows that," she said simply. "Though…" 

            He cocked his head, seeing the glint in her eyes. "You've got an idea?" She didn't answer for a moment. "Well?"

            "Yes," she said slowly, even hesitantly, "Yes, but it needs research. As soon as I've more information, I'll tell you."

            "Dinner's ready," called Mrs. Weasley, poking her frazzled head into the living room. "Finally."

            As they entered the kitchen, Gunther Flitwick clapped his hands with delight.

            "You've really outdone yourself, Molly," said an awed Mr. Fletcher. He gazed longingly at the meatballs. 

            Halfway during the meal, Hagrid and Madame Maxime showed up, along with Ron. His bright red hair and his Shooting Star were singed to various degrees, giving him a very wild, dazed look. 

            "We found him in a tree," said Hagrid.

            "Wiv alf ze leaves gone," put in Olympe, shaking her head.

            "Then we walked fer another seven miles before reachin' the Burrow. Sorry we're so late."

            "Who put ze anti-apparation barrier around ze house?" asked Olympe, casting a suspicious glance at the Charms Professor.

            "I told Gunther to," said Dumbledore. "Just in case. Please, sit down. You must be exhausted."

            "Yeah," said Ron, as he tramped upstairs, "I'm going to get some Blisterbanish."

            After everyone had eaten their fill, Hagrid and Madame Maxime were bombarded with questions concerning their assembly with the giants.

            "We talked fer a long time, but they're stayin' neutral," said Hagrid, as he poked at the last crumbs of his casserole. "Which is good fer them." Giants were known to be impulsive.         

            "Zey are waiting for You-Know-Oo to make ze first move."

            "He already has," Black grumbled, stabbing a meatball savagely.

            "Then you did well," said Dumbledore, smiling. "We're glad both of you have returned safely. And now, a few more matters to discuss before we leave."

            "We'll need to alert the public," said the Headmaster, grimly "Wizards and Muggles alike, everywhere. They deserve to know, even if they won't heed our warnings."

            "They won't."

            Mad-Eye Moody shot Sirius a silencing glare. 

            "On a more local level," continued Dumbledore, "we're to raise shields over the Muggle communities in Britain. Everyone will take a sector." Seeing Snape's poorly disguised contempt, he said, "It's not their war."

            "And what about ordinary wizarding folks? Are they expected to protect themselves?" 

            "An announcement can be made over the radio," said Minerva. "Once they have been informed, they can act accordingly."

            "In theory," said Sirius. "They won't believe us."

            "They will soon enough," said Snape.

            Arabella nodded. "Speaking of which, everyone should look through all the potent and effective blocking, disarming, and attacking spells. Also, practice wandless magic, for there may be times when your wand is caught in your opponents fist." 

            She mentioned many other Auror techniques of combat, all complicated and difficult. Molly wondered how she was going to learn these things in mere weeks, when it had taken the Aurors many years. With Dementers loose, no aid from the Ministry, a disbelieving public to convince and protect, and on the brink of war…

             At the end of the evening, Flitwick's Portkeys were passed out to everyone. The Weasleys were thanked for opening up their home and one by one, each wizard and witch left by Floo. Remus and Sirius, who were staying at Hogwarts for the summer, disappeared with two turns of the Portkey.

When all the guests had left, Arthur Weasley turned to his tired wife. After insisting that she get some rest, he trudged off to the kitchens to deal with the dishes. Then, he pulled a thick Defense Against the Dark Arts book from his bookshelf, sat down by the fire, and started reading.    


	2. The First Casualty

Pricking Achille's Heel

Minerva slowly guided her broomstick back to the Hogwarts grounds. In the hazy morning light, she could see two other figures returning. 

            "Wales is secure," grinned Sirius, as Remus yawned a great yawn that nearly sent him toppling over. "We laced it with shields, at least twenty dozen. Impregnable. How about you?"

            "Exhausted. Mundungus Fletcher insisted on using some of the most obscure spells in the world." 

            Remus rubbed his eyes. "I'm going to bed. I'll be down in time for supper."

            They entered the castle. As Remus and Sirius' yawns echoed through the corridor, Minerva sent a message to Albus Dumbledore before heading to the library.

            The Headmaster had not wasted any time. Already, he'd brought the padlocked trunk out of storage, which contained surveillance instruments that he had used sixteen years ago, during Voldemort's reign. When little Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord, he had packed those tools away for good, hoping that he'd never have to use them again. _That was so long_ _ago._ He shook his head. _No, it wasn't. _

            With Flitwick's help, he'd set up the charts and maps and radars. One of them looked sort of like a topography map, and it measured the levels of Dark activity. There was quite a peak at Malfoy Manor, and a faint blue tinge marked the smoldering traces left from the raid on Azkaban. 

            Stifling a yawn, Albus Dumbledore wondered what Voldemort's next move would be. He'd already amassed an army; where will he strike? His mind flitted to the most logical answers. Diagon Alley. Hogwarts. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. 

            "I don't know," he said aloud. And then, "Hullo, what are you doing here?"

            A speckled owl, Minerva's owl, was perching on his lampshade. Albus quickly untied the letter and read it. He was pleased. Everyone had finished and returned to Hogwarts but Severus and Moody, who were in London, but they'd be back soon, no doubt.

            In the library, Minerva's pile of books grew steadily higher. She was undaunted; in fact, she welcomed the information. If she wanted to put her idea into use, she would need to do that much research.

            _This has never been done before_, she told herself. _It's never occurred to anyone to try it. That's why it will work._

            At least she hoped that was the case. She perused the chapter on Animagology, before moving on to the next book. She'd nearly finished the entire stack when Sirius popped his head into the library.

            "It's dinner time. Have you found out what you wanted to?"

            She nodded and told him. 

            "I didn't know Animagii could transform into multiple animals."

            "It's just not done," she said, "but it's possible."

            Sirius flashed a happy smile, but his eyes glinted vengeance. "When do we start?"

            "Now."

            As they walked to the Great Hall, Sirius was already thinking up possibilities. A hawk? A bear? Or perhaps something with opposable thumbs…

            Halfway through dinner, Remus thought he heard a strange whirling sound. It grew louder and louder, and then with a _whumph_, a little old woman came into view. She was wearing Flitwick's Portkey.

            "Why, hello Arabella," said Professor Dumbledore mildly, as he shook a speck of pepper from his beard. "Care to join us?"

            "I've already eaten. I was at the Leaky Cauldron just a moment ago."

            Dumbledore waited patiently as Arabella reached for a drumstick. "Actually, I didn't get to finish my meal, I left in such a hurry."

            The whole table perked up, and looked at her eagerly. She carefully licked her fingers before clearing her throat.

            "Arthur's been fired from the Ministry, for being impertinent enough to want you to alarm the nation on public radio. Fudge personally sacked him." 

            Dumbledore shook his head, slowly. "That's terrible. How are Arthur and Molly taking it?"

            She grinned a crooked toothed grin. "Molly's happy. She says the Ministry's full of fools, anyways. Arthur's a little down, but he jokes that he can teach 'Muggle Studies' at Hogwarts.

"But there's more. While I was at Tom's place, there were some drunken men—werewolves, actually. And they were causing trouble, with their mutterings. Tom was about to throw them out, but then we heard something about a raid and new wands, and something about Voldemort promising them what the Ministry couldn't. So we gave them more drinks—more potent ones—until they were sprawling on the floor drunk, but we didn't find anything more."

            "You-Know-Who's given wands out to his army?" Hagrid cried, turning pale.

            "But what could he offer them that the Ministry can't?"

            "Lots of things, like power, for instance. Self-worth. Dignity. We're not known for treating werewolves nicely," said Arabella grimly. "So they're be wanting to attack soon."

            "I think," said Remus, looking tired, "they'll choose Monday."

            "The full moon is on Monday." 

            "But that's tomorrow."

*          *            *

            After Arabella left, nobody seemed to know what to do, and so they did everything but plan a counterattack. Late that night, Minerva sent encoded alert owls to every member of their group, as well as a plain note to the Ministry. The next morning, she got back an enlarged lump of earwax from the Minister.

            For the entire day, Sirius fiddled agitatedly with a Rubix cube, a Muggle toy meant to test one's logic and patience. Remus had enchanted it so that it would not be affected by magical proddings, and had given it to his friend for Christmas in their sixth year so that Sirius could wring something that wasn't Professor Snape's neck. He was surprised but glad that Sirius still had it. 

            There was a knock on the door, Remus looked up, and Hagrid and Madame Maxime entered the staff room. He'd brought Fang with him, for in the summer, Hagrid was allowed to bring his dog into Hogwarts.  

            They sat in silence, to the cadence of Fang's dipping slobber. Olympe looked like she had a strong urge to wipe the dog's jaw with her bath towel-sized handkerchief, but she didn't move. 

            "So, Sirius," said Remus awkwardly, feeling as if he'd shattered glassware in subzero weather, "Have you decide upon your next animal?"

             "No, not yet."

            "You've already made the potion for me?"

            Sirius nodded. 

            There was another sound at the door, and Professor Flitwick entered the staff room and shook his fists. "I can't stand it," he said, and then sat down without a word. Everyone excused the normally jolly Professor's outburst; they felt exactly the same way he did.

            Not five minutes had passed when the door flung open again and Minerva McGonagall strode in, a large book tucked under her arm. She looked rather sheepish for causing such a noise, closed the door soundlessly, and sat down next to Professor Flitwick. However, she did not open the book.

            "I wonder who will pop in next," remarked Hagrid. 

In answer, Professor Trelawney glided into the room, and sat down, her eyes keen behind misty glasses as she surveyed the tense crowd. They seemed to be waiting for something to happen. 

            "You know," said Sybille in her most serene voice, for she recognized her opportunity, "I have been examining the slime traces of snails, and I have foreseen that something dark will happen soon."

            "That's nice," said Sirius coldly. He twisted his cube all the faster.

            "Something will happen very soon. He will strike hard and steal our greatest treasure from us. Then we shall crumble."

            "We're all going ter be mad if what you say turns out ta be true," Hagrid remarked. He thought about Hogwarts, his precious home, his only home. 

            "Don't listen to her," said Sirius. "She likes the commotion." 

            Trelawney shook her head in sorrow. "I am merely the messenger." 

            Minerva could feel the anger directed at the Divination's professor; in fact, she felt rather riled herself. She knew Sybille was not a stupid woman. Surely she had the sense not to keep provoking the staff.

            Remus leapt out of his chair; calm, reasonable Remus Lupin. "Go away," he growled menacingly, his throat rumbling. "We don't need your silly forecasts or guesses."

             Professor Trelawney barely batted an eye.

            To Minerva's surprise, she found herself walking over to Sybille. She placed an arm around Sybille's shoulder and steered her out of the staff room.

            Summoning her friendliest voice, Minerva said, "Please excuse them, Sybille. They're feeling rather distraught today."

            Professor Trelawney was so flabbergasted herself that wordlessly, she let Minerva lead her to her tower. 

            Back in the staff room, Remus shook his head. "I'm sorry. But I suppose I ought to tell Professor Trelawney that." 

            "You don't have to apologize at all," Sirius interjected. "She brought it upon herself, and you were far more civil than I would have been."

            "I've been angry all day, and it's not because the full moon's tonight."

            Hagrid pat Remus on the shoulder hard, but kindly, "Don't worry, we're all that way today. You'd better get to your room before the moon rises."

            A look of panic flashed across Remus' face and he bolted out of the room.

            Seconds later, they heard a piercing scream, the sound of footsteps, and a man's voice.

            They rushed out the room, down the stairs, and to Great Hall, where the noise was coming from.

            Apparently, it was Sybille who had screamed, and Minerva was trying to calm her and conjure a stretcher all at once.

            "What's happened?" asked Sirius, "What's happened, Moody?"

            Moody did not answer, but rolled a bloodied figure robed in black onto the stretcher Minerva had conjured. "Bring him up to Madame Pomfrey, will ya?" 

            The injured man was immediately carted off by Hagrid and Flitwick.

            "What's happened?" repeated Sirius, frowning. "Who was that man?"

            "Be happy it's not you. I've got to speak to Dumbledore." With that, he strode off.

*          *            *

            Sirius tapped Minerva's shoulder. "Hey, do you know what's going on?" He felt too old to actually eavesdrop by the Headmaster's door and find out.

            She shook her head. "I know only bits."

            "Well?" 

            "From Moody, I know that Who-Know-Who's adherents have struck tonight in London."

            "Where?"

            "Diagon Alley."

            "Gringotts?"

            "No," said Minerva, as she thought for a moment. Sirius wondered if she had already pieced the bits of Moody's information together in her mind. 

            "Well?"

            "He sent the werewolves out…just as Arabella had warned us. It was the full moon, so they were especially dangerous…I think they attacked Ollivander's. You-Know-Who's promised them wands, Sirius. It's the one thing they want that they're not allowed to have under wizarding law." 

            "Except Remus," said Sirius proudly. 

            "And once they've raided Ollivander's, they can distribute wands….to the vampires, the trolls, the banshees….and the Dementors."

            An involuntary shiver ran through Sirius' back. Minerva felt it, too.

            "And who was that man Moody carried in?"

            "I hope it's not…"

            There was the sound of footsteps and Professor Dumbledore rushed down the stairs, his purple cloak flying.

            "Where are you going?" cried Sirius.

            "To see the Minister."

            At the top of the stairs, Alastor Moody shouted, "Constant vigilance!"

            Dumbledore nodded and stepped into the fireplace. In a burst of green light, he was gone.

            "Good luck with Fudge," said Sirius, quietly.

            "Come on," said Minerva in a flat voice, as she head towards the Infirmary, "We ought to check on Professor Snape. See if he's alright."

            It was an understatement, and she knew it. No one was "alright" after Voldemort had dealt with him. 


	3. The Letter

Pricking Achille's Heel

Rudyard Ashby, secretary of Prime Minister Cornelius Fudge, barely bothered to raise his head when he heard the sound of chimes announcing someone's arrival. He already knew that the man who had arrived was Headmaster Dumbledore, of Hogwarts, the greatest wizard in the world and the one man his boss refused to see. Nevertheless, the old man still showed up every morning.

            "Hello, Rudyard," said Dumbledore, amicably, though with a tinge of impatience. Rudyard himself was rather surprised that a man of Dumbledore's importance could be ignored for so long.

            "Morning sir. The Minister's scheduled an impromptu meeting with the Ambassador of Latvia. Chances are, sir, he won't be free until tonight."

            Rudyard knew why Dumbledore wanted to talk to the Minister so badly. Everyone in the Ministry knew, in a vague sort of way. Although no one was exactly sure, the employees whispered of Voldemort and Azkaban, and recently, the raid on Ollivanders. Still, most were convinced that it was all part of a giant hoax contrived by the Death Eaters, who were still as loyal and fanatical as ever. But if that were the case, Dumbledore wouldn't be bothering the Ministry.

            _You'd better stop thinking about it before you get fired like poor Mr. Weasley._

            He went back to his deskwork as Albus Dumbledore settled down in the lobby, prepared to wait another day in hopes of accosting Cornelius Fudge during his dinner break.

*          *            *

            Remus was on his way to the owlery when he ran into Sirius. Although he was tired from his transformation and his eyes were rather bleary, he did notice that Sirius had more facial hair than usual. It was black and thick, almost like fur. With a backward glance, he saw a large bushy tail emerging from his friend's rear end. 

            Raising his eyebrows, he ran after Sirius.

            "I'm stuck between two forms," Sirius complained to Minerva, as he held his tail, unsure of what to do with it. "Half of me is a dog, and the rest of me only got partially transfigured."

            A grin formed upon her lips. "What are you supposed to be? A raccoon?"

            Sirius frowned. "What about you? I don't see you testing out your brilliant idea."

            "I haven't decided yet," she said matter-of-factly. And then, "Oh, you wanted to be a squirrel."

             Remus had caught up to them, chortling, "A squirrel?"

            "Cork it, Moony," Sirius huffed, whacking his friend with his rather large tail. 

            "A squirrel is so…" said Remus, as "cute", "adorable," and "cuddly" floated through his head. "…practical."

            "Just help me unfix myself." Sirius growled. "Now."

            Remus was relieved when, nearly four hours later, Sirius walked into the staff room, looking like his normal self. 

            "How did you undo it?"

            "I had to get back to dog form first, and then everything went okay. But I got into trouble in the first place because my dog nature wanted to chase the squirrel I was becoming. That broke my concentration, and I got stuck."

            "What a pain," muttered Remus, "So, when are you going to try again?"

            Sirius saved himself the trouble of answering. He pointed to an owl, a fat snowy owl bearing the Ministry's logo.

            "Mail's here," he said, as he raised his fist for the bird to land.

            The owl dropped the envelope in Sirius' lap, and flew to the kitchens.

            "Crazy bird," muttered Remus, glancing at the letter from the Ministry. "It's from Dumbledore."

            "Open it."

            As usual, Dumbledore's daily letter mentioned the happenings and highlights of his day. (He found a Sickle on the floor, transfigured paperclips into newts for Fudge's secretary, Ashby, and saw gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling in the reception area outside Fudge's office) Though the tone of the letter was cheerful, Remus could feel the Headmaster's patience wearing thin.

            At the end of the letter, he asked about Severus' condition, whether Sirius and Minerva had made any progress as double Animagii, and whether Sprout's tomato plants had any ripe fruit yet. 

            Sirius found some parchment, and he and Moony wrote a response.

*          *            *

            Although she had been relieved that Severus Snape had finally regained consciousness, at the moment, Poppy Pomfrey wished he hadn't. In fact, she hoped he would faint or at least stop trying to get out of bed.

            "Especially in your present condition!" she scolded, shoving some vile liquid down his gullet, leaving Snape gulping like a fish for the rest of the morning. 

            Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall came by to visit in the afternoon. The Charms Professor was carrying a plate of cookies and a pot of pink geraniums as get-well presents from Hagrid and Madame Maxime. Noticing the deep gashes on Snape's arms and legs, but most prominently, the wan look on his face, Minerva's eyes flickered, but her expression did not change. 

Severus shifted uncomfortably, hating to appear so wretched in front of his colleagues. 

"Do you mind if we have a moment with Professor Snape, Poppy?" asked Minerva.

"Just keep him subdued," said Madame Pomfrey, heating a strong Sleeping Potion. She couldn't stand it if Severus tried to escape from his cot one more time. After his encounter with the _Crutio_-happy Death Eaters, the man didn't even have nerve endings left in his legs. 

"Severus," said Professor McGonagall, looking him right in the eye, "Could you please tell us what happened that night?"

From the way she said it, it was not a question but an order. Severus was sure that brainy Minerva was dying to analyze his information and discover Voldemort's next move. Normally he respected her, but today he wished she and Flitwick would leave him alone.

He glared resentfully at her, feeling suddenly like a naught first-year caught in the Restricted Section. And he hadn't even done anything wrong. _How dare she? _ 

 "Severus," said Flitwick, concerned. "Severus?"

I don't want to talk right now. Let me alone and let me process my own thoughts in peace. I don't need you to do it for me.

There was a long silence. Neither Flitwick nor McGonagall left the Infirmary. 

He hoped they wouldn't sink so low as to besiege him until he surrendered and cried out. Unfortunately, it seemed like they would resort to such tactics.

            "What do you want to know?" he said, in a dull voice.

            "Please," said Flitwick, looking uncomfortable himself, "Please tell us what happened."

            He told them about going to London with Moody, about how they raised defenses for the Muggles and how they stopped by the Leaky Cauldron for a drink afterwards. On his way home from the tavern, the air had felt saturated with Dark magic, and he foolishly followed the trail right to the wand shop. 

            He saw the windows smashed and the door torn down. A pack of werewolves guarded the door, and a few Death Eaters were inside the shop, loading crate after crate of wands into a black carriage bearing Voldemort's mark. There was no sign of Mr. Ollivander.

            "I thought I could single-handedly take on twelve werewolves." _I was so stupid. The whiskey had made me as stupid as a Gryffindor._

            "Before I knew it, the Death Eaters came out of the shop, shouting and waving their wands. One of them grabbed me around the neck. I don't know what happen after that, except that Moody appeared."

            He stopped, he would say no more.

            "Did they see your face," said Minerva, quietly, "The Death Eaters?"

            Severus thought for a moment. "I don't know. I didn't recognize them."

            "But did they recognize you?"

            "No."

*          *            *

            Mundungus Fletcher and Arthur Weasley surveyed from afar the wreck that was left of Ollivander's prized wand shop. The Ministry had portioned off that area with bright red warning tape, which was charmed to zap anyone who crossed the boundaries unauthorized. They'd left Molly with Mr. Ollivander, who was recovering at Merlin's Medical, just down the street.

            "Where's Arabella?" said Fletcher, impatiently tapping his fingers on his silver-tipped cane that he liked to twirl. "She's always late, that woman."

            Minutes later, tiny Arabella came jogging over, in a salami red jogging suit. 

            "Okay," she said, not at all out of breath from her exercise, "How do we get in?"

            "Arthur," said Fletcher, "You know how to get past the Ministry's Tape, right?"

            "Yes. Come on."

            After giving the password (Shoe bag), Arthur tapped the Tape three times, turned it green, and jumped over it. He beckoned at Arabella and Mundungus to do the same. They waited for the Tape to turn red again before entering the shop.

            "Remember," said Mundungus, "Ollivander has a Monitor somewhere in his store. Once we find that, we can see exactly what happened."

            Like a Muggle security camera, the Monitor's purpose was to watch the store constantly. However, it was artfully hidden, being able to assume any shape the shopkeeper wished it to.

            To Arabella's dismay, the Forensics branch of the Ministry had already nosed around, muddling the Dark tracks and traces. 

            "I can't believe they get paid to screw things up," she commented, as she riffled through the debris.

            "After Mr. Wattleburrow opted for early retirement five years ago," said Arthur, "the Department has been falling apart."

            "Why don't they get Aurors to investigate?"

            "Most Aurors are unemployed," said Mr. Weasley, grimly, "because Fudge is convinced that they are unnecessary during peace time and a burden to the taxpayers."

            "There will be a high demand for them soon enough."

            Mr. Fletcher neatly sidestepped the mess on the floor, which was sprinkled with bits of glass and rubbish. He jumped over a broken flowerpot.  "I hope that wasn't the Monitor."

            "You don't think that You-Know-Who's people or the Ministry have gotten to it, first, do you?"

            "They'd better not," growled Arabella. 

            "Hey, Mundungus," hollered Arthur, "have you found something?"

            The tall man slowly rose from his crouch. He was holding something in his palm, about the size of a Sickle.

            "It's a pin backing," said Arthur. "I wonder where the setting's gotten?"

            Mundungus shrugged and slipped it into his pocket.

            "They took Ollivander's best wands," Arabella noted, glancing at the empty shelves. She clambered up the ladder and surveyed the shop from above. There was a mirror angled in the corner, tactfully hidden away. "I wonder…"

            "_Accio_ mirror," she summoned, and the glass flew to her hands. 

            "Why do you want that?"

            "It's got a great view of the store."

            "You think it's the Monitor?"         

            "Why not?" said Arabella grinning, because she knew that she had found it. "Alright, let's go."

*          *            *

            "Post's here!" shouted Sirius as he abandoned his Animagus practices with Minerva to greet a pair of owls. (Droopy whiskers were still dangling from his face.)

            The pudgy Ministry owl dropped its letter into Minerva's outstretched hands and raced for the kitchens, while the other bird, a fierce eagle owl, flew in a whirlwind past Sirius. 

            They followed it up the stairs, through the corridors, and to the Infirmary, where the owl dropped the letter into Snape's lap.

            His eyes widened when he saw the seal, and his _Crutio_ weakened hands struggled to open it. Finally, he handed the envelope to Professor McGonagall and asked her to read it for him.

            "The coiled asp. That's the Malfoy family seal." Sirius remarked, as he peered over Minerva's shoulder.

            "Go away, Black," rasped Snape.

            Sirius frowned, but left, leaving Severus feeling rather surprised.

_Dear Professor Snape_, the letter began, in a pointed, dagger-like script, _I would be honored if you came to visit me. It is imperative that we meet to discuss the direction of Draco's education and future. He is truly lost in the dark when it comes to his studies, and with the OWLs coming up I'm worried about his academic performance. I've enclosed a train ticket that will take you directly to Malfoy Manor. Looking forward to your arrival. Sincerely, Lucius_

_ Malfoy._

            "You're in no condition to go on such a trip," said Madame Pomfrey severely, as she handed him a goblet of medicine.

            "I know, I know. But he expects me to go." said Severus, irritably. "He should just come to Hogwarts if he wants to talk about school."

            "That's all pretense," said Minerva, readjusting her square spectacles. Snape squirmed when he noticed she was looking with concern at his forearm, where that abhorrent brand was forever etched into his skin.

            He hated how she could put pieces together in her head so fast. She had no right knowing such things.

            "It's not burning," he said bluntly.

            "Very well. Tell Mr. Malfoy you are unable to come, but he is welcomed to visit you."

            "Not like this," snarled Professor Snape, gesturing at his pathetic state of health. "See these?" He pushed back his sleeves to reveal the cuts he'd received from the werewolves, "He'd recognize these. He can't know that I was involved in the attack."

            "What are you going to do, then?"

            "I'll refuse for now. But in the end, I have no choice but to go. You'll see."

            Minerva remained silent, so Severus figured she hadn't found any good solutions.

            He was pleased to see her stumped for once. He would deal with this problem in his own manner.

*          *            *


	4. Flight of the Bumblebee

Pricking Acille's Heel 

            There was a loud whoop and several rogue Filibusters zoomed impulsively through the corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

            "What's gotten into you?" yelled Argus Filch, showing up from nowhere with a bucket and mop. As he surveyed the trail of smoke and rubble, his frown only became deeper. "You hooligan."

            The perpetrator could only smile weakly.

            "Remus Lupin," said Filch, plunging his mop into the bucket, " this is your four thousand, seven hundred, and twenty-third offense! I've about had enough!"

            Seconds later, Hagrid and McGonagall came running over.

            "Cripes," muttered Hagrid, glancing at the broken chandeliers, "I thought we weh under attack or somemat."

            "What's going on?" squeaked Flitwick, from the top of the stairs. 

            Minerva suddenly grinned, as she spotted a black squirrel perching jauntily on the statue of Balinda the Bald. 

            "Congratulations," she called, much to the others' bewilderment. Then, "Clean up your mess, Sirius."

            Minerva realized she hadn't been so excited for a very long time. She couldn't wait to tell Albus about Sirius' accomplishment. Suddenly, she remembered his letter from yesterday and fished the envelope out of her pocket.

_Dear friends, _

_            Finally, Cornelius is confronting the reality of Voldemort's return. I am happy to announce that on the first of July, he will personally be giving a speech in front of Gringotts. I will be at his side in support.  _

_                                                                                    Cheerfully yours,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

            Tomorrow is July the first.

*          *            *

            Bleary-eyed, Wallace Whitman stared blankly at the small mirror. He'd seen the same footage so many times he could still see it in his mind if he closed his eyes long enough. Along with Arabella, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Mad-Eye Moody, and his friend Mundungus Fletcher, he'd spent the whole night analyzing Ollivander's Monitor, but they still hadn't discovered any information of value.

            "How about your kids?" asked Arabella, slightly concerned that the Weasley kids were left alone at the Burrow. "Is Percy looking after them?"

            "Percy's at a conference in Sweden. We've left Ginny in charge."

            "You didn't think we'd leave the twins to wreck the house in our absence?" added Molly, shaking her head disapprovingly but grinning anyways. 

            Mundungus Fletcher stood up, stretching his long limbs. "It is already seven in the morning. If we are to catch the Minister's address, we'd better hurry." He looked at Wallace, whose eyes were red from lack of sleep. "You'd better get home and spruce up, son."

            Wallace rolled his eyes and tried to smooth down his unkempt hair. It was charged with electricity and it stuck out like bristles. Giving up, he left, planning to come back in time for Fudge's speech.

            Arabella was surprised at the amount of people who showed up. Wizards without a place to stand crowded on the rooftops. She was jabbed by stray elbows; her toes trampled by unknown feet. A large man clothed in black smacked into her, but before she could yell at him or place a minor curse on him, he was lost in the swarm of black, gray, brown, green, violet, blue, yellow, orange, and red-robed witches and wizards.

            Finally, emerging from within Gringotts, the Minister appeared, wearing his pinstriped suit. He shot a jet of sparks from his wand as the crowd quieted. 

            Being well informed, Arabella was quite aware of the news Fudge had to deliver. However, his message stunned the crowd; although they did not turn to whisper fearfully (there was a deathly silence), she could feel everyone squirming nervously. 

            Fudge could feel the tension too. Dumbledore nodded encouragingly at the Minister.

            "It is imperative," he began again, his voice steady, "that we—"

            There was a soundless gasp from the crowd as men in black robes came streaming out of Gringotts, easily surrounding the Minister. Another ring of men faced the crowd, their wands raised.

            As the crowd stepped backwards, Moody stepped forwards in challenge. He barely had time to say a word when pandemonium broke loose.

            At the same time, Wallace Whitman showed up, his short brown hair neatly combed and slicked, and his face pink from scrubbing. His eyes widened, he broke into a sweat that ruined the purpose of his bath, and he saw Mundungus motioning at him. As screaming wizards ran past him, he simply stood there absorbing the scene.

            It took him three and half seconds to realize what to do. In another three seconds, he had escaped to Hogwarts.

*          *            *

            "No! No, it eren't possible."

            "The Death Eaters have taken Diagon Alley and the Ministry."

            "That's absurd!"

            "Cornelius Fudge is dead."

            "What about the others? What about Dumbledore?"

            "They can't take him! He's our leader. Without him, we're lost."

            "Don't say that. That's not true."

            "I told it would come to happen, remember? And you didn't believe me." 

            No one paid Trelawney any heed. After Wallace's sudden arrival, the entire Hogwarts community had met in an empty classroom, where they learned of the recent turn of events. Even Filch and the house elves were there.

            "What's going to happen?" whispered Wallace. Remus remembered that this young man had never experienced the Dark days.

            "We're going to get Dumbledore back," said Sirius, although he could barely believe that the greatest wizard in the world was really captured and gone.

            Behind his bushy eyebrows, Hagrid was crying. Madame Maxime put a large arm around his shoulder. "I kept hoping it wouldn't happen. Not back to the Dark Days."

            "I didn't think anyone could overpower Dumbledore." said Flitwick, emptily. 

            "Everything will turn out fine in the end," said Professor Trelawney, as if she wanted to reassure herself, that if she said it enough times, it would come true. 

            "Not always," said Remus slowly, feeling overwhelmed with despair. He turned to Professor McGonagall for reassurance but she looked as uncertain of the future as he felt. That made him more afraid.

            "What happened to Molly and Arthur and Arabella?"

            "They were arrested for resisting the Death Eaters. I think they'll be interrogated and tortured," Wallace whispered. He still hadn't found his voice.

            Minerva suddenly stood up and made for the door.

            "Where are you going?" yelled Sirius, so loudly that everyone started. 

            Her voice was neither loud nor soft, but urgent. "I'm going to the Burrow."

            "Then I'm coming too."

*          *            *

            Ron looked outside the window from between the blinds, breathing fast and glancing desperately at his siblings. 

            Fred muttered an expletive. "They've got Dementors around the house."

            "We can't possibly fight them all."

            "Don't be silly," said Ginny. "We can escape by Floo."

            They found (after Ron burned himself) that somehow, their fireplace had been disconnected from the Floo Network. 

            "Now what?" cried Ron, his voice cracking, as Fred quickly placed a Cooling Spell on his brother's fingertips.

            "Do curses even affect Dementors?" said George, almost shouting, but not even realizing it. 

            The entire house shook as the front door fell down with a crash. A sickening cold washed over them. Ron gripped his wand with frozen fingers.

            "We'll take them at the stairs," Fred muttered, barely audible.

            "_Incendio!_" The cloaks of two Dementors burst into flames. 

            Ginny used the Jelly Legs curse to prevent them from mounting the stairs.

            Still, the Dementors kept flooding into the house and they were now submerged in waves of cold. 

            Biting his lip, George saw Ron fall, then Ginny. The Dementors were climbing the stairs.

            "You still there, Fred?"

            "Yeah," said Fred, gripping the banister tightly. "Yeah."

            "This is it."

            "The last stand of the Weasley twins."

            "It's a pity about the joke shop."

            "Wonder what the Dementor's will be like…."

            "After they suck out our mischievous souls."

            "Except they don't deserve our creativity."

            "You know…"

            "We really ought to give them…"

            "One last trick."

            One tall Dementor loomed over them. There was a loud bang and the sound of footsteps. 

            The twins placed a powerful Cheering Charm on the Dementor. Confused, it sat down complacently at the top of the stairs, preventing the other Dementors from reaching the Weasleys. The sickening chill lessened. 

            "That takes care of that!"

            "Only twenty-four more Dementors…"

            "Who need to be enlightened."

            "Maybe they'll stop wearing black all the…oh hello!"

            "It's about time…"

            "You showed up." George said, as he placed a fifth Cheering Charm on a particularly gloomy Dementor.

            "_Expecto Patronus!_" cried two voices, and as the Dementors fell back, George and Fred, carrying Ron and Ginny, rushed down the stairs to see Sirius Black and Professor McGonagall, covering each other back to back. 

            "Are they alright?" cried Minerva, glancing at a pale Ginny. "Are you alright?"

            "Ron ought to be coming round soon enough," grunted George, dumping his brother into Sirius' arms. "He's too heavy to be carried."

            "Minerva," said Sirius, "you take care of the Death Eaters outside. We'll escape through the back."

            They scrabbled down the hill as fast as they could. Fred nearly tripped and tumbled down the hill, with Ginny still in his arms. When they reached the empty field, Sirius surveyed the skies. "Where are you?" 

            They're coming!" yelled Fred, pointing to the approaching black specks that were the Death Eaters.

            "Where are you?" muttered Sirius impatiently, as George gripped his wand tighter.

            And then he saw it. A giant blue carriage—Madame Maxime's carriage—landed in the middle of the field. The door opened and they dashed in.

            "That was close," breathed Fred, wiping sweat from his forehead. 

            They flew past the Burrow. The Death Eaters had set fire to the house. George tried to choke back a cry.

            "Where is ze Professeur?" asked Madame Maxime. "Is she okay?"

            "Minerva can take care of herself," Sirius grunted.

            He was right. When they reached Hogwarts, they found her greeting them at the front door. She instantly led them to Madame Pomfrey's.  

Despite protests from Ron and Ginny, Poppy insisted on giving the two Weasleys a thorough examination. 

Meanwhile, Minerva went to visit Professor Snape, who had been given a private quarter in the back. She noticed a stack of letters in front of his cot. Every single one bore the Malfoy seal. 

            "My mark is burning," said Severus painfully. He couldn't believe he was telling her, even if she did seem genuinely concerned. "He won't leave me alone. I have to go."

            "You can't even walk. Don't be absurd."

            "I have to go." Severus repeated. "I don't have a choice. I wish Dumbledore was here…"

            When he stopped abruptly, Minerva realized he was silently asking her a question. _What should I do? What can I do?_

            As the clock struck twelve, another black owl flew into the Infirmary. It had another letter in his beak. 

            Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, then shut it. She didn't know the answer to his question.

            __


	5. Malfoy Manor

Pricking Achille's Heel

            In the Infirmary, Debussy's _Clair de lune _was playing softly, broadcasted from the Muggle radio station Madame Pomfrey loved to listen to. The Muggles still had no idea of the calamity in the wizarding world, and they could peacefully listen to the beautiful lulls of music without worry. Voldemort had silenced all wizarding emissions so that only an eerie static remained when one switched on the radio.

            Severus Snape glanced sourly at the stack of letters sent to him from Lucius Malfoy. Although he still hadn't figure out what to do about them, and the heap grew higher each day, he longed to chuck all the letters into the fire. 

            Grimacing, he smeared Cooling Custard on his mark, which burned constantly now. More than anything he wanted to go to Malfoy Manor (just so the pain would end) but for the moment, he couldn't even stand up. He wondered if Lucius and Voldemort would begin to suspect if he delayed any longer.

            "Catch smallpox," suggested Sirius absentmindedly, when he'd found out Severus' dilemma from Professor McGonagall. "Then they can't force you to show."

            "Let's go and find you a brain," laughed Remus, and Snape couldn't help but agree with the werewolf. 

            They left to practice curses, leaving Snape alone to smear more cream on his forearm.

*          *            *

            Two men, one standing, one sitting, were in a white room with a white door and no windows. The man that was standing was robed in black, and the effect was striking against the white walls. Mundungus Fletcher was the other man, and he was being questioned by a Death Eater. 

            Luckily, since he was not a person of particular importance and his last name was not widely known, the Death Eaters did not suspect him, and treated him fairly hospitably, only taking away his wand. Alastor Moody, the legendary Auror, was recognized right away and removed. 

            "What's your occupation?" droned the Death Eater. Despite his monotone, his voice was rather high, so he couldn't have been much older than twenty.

            "Fishmonger," said Fletcher, which was true. He'd worked part time at a fish market shortly after graduating from Hogwarts a long time ago.

            "Why did you attack the Death Eaters?"

            "Someone threw a curse at me first. Self-defense."

            After a few more inquiries, they herded Mundungus into another room with sleek metal walls. Once inside, he saw Molly and Arthur there, as well as fifty more wizards and witches. A short while later, a fuming Arabella joined them. As she walked through the threshold, still shaking her fists in anger, Mundungus Fletcher noticed a curious thing. The door suddenly disappeared, blending seamlessly into the steel walls, completely undetectable. He wondered how they'd ever get out.   

*          *            *

            Hagrid had taken it upon himself to look after the Weasley kids. After warning the twins never to wander off grounds, and especially not the Forbidden Forests, he indulged them, letting them roam around the school (to Filch's displeasure), visiting places they'd not been before.

            "I didn't know the Professors had an Arcade Room hidden in the seventh turret," said Ron after a long game of pinball, as they climbed down the stairs. 

            They bumped into a young man who seemed severely lost. Wallace Whitman had never gone to school at Hogwarts, and the twists and turns had baffled him.

            "I was heading for…" he pointed in one direction, then the opposite, "but I seem to have lost my way."  

            "Do you if my Mum and Dad are okay?" asked Ginny. She'd already asked Professor McGonagall a thousand times. "You were there."

            He could only tell her what he knew. 

            Ron looked miserable. "I just saw Sirius and Professor Lupin practicing Defenses and other curses. Is the war coming here?"

            The question hung in the air for a moment.

"Will we have to fight?" 

*          *            *

            "Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Professor Snape, looking hard at Professor McGonagall. "Are you sure this is wise? You do know what risks you're taking?"

            She nodded. 

            "And your inflated Gryffindor pride isn't pushing to do this?" His voice was harsh, but she ignored the sarcasm for once. Her determination scared him.

            "I need to. You know that."

            He knew. She was going so that Voldemort wouldn't suspect him, so that he wouldn't have to feel the constant pain in his arm, so that they would be satisfied and leave him alone. And there was something more.

            "Then why do you need my consent, if you're so determined?" he asked.

            She didn't answer.

            "Because it's proper," Snape said, answering for her. Then, more angrily, "You shouldn't have to suffer…" he corrected himself, "…to go in my place."

            His eyes met hers. _You know the consequences of getting caught. _

            She nodded again in that grave, emotionless expression. 

            All of a sudden, he just gave in. He didn't care if he'd feel guilty forever if she never came back. Although he loathed admitting it, he was tired, sick, and grateful that she was going instead of him. Indebted for life. He was too weary to care.  

            Handing her the train ticket, he nodded to her, giving her the approval she desired. 

            _You'd better come back, and with Dumbledore._

            Then, with every single ounce of strength left, he threw all the letters from Lucius Malfoy into the fire and felt inexpressibly lighter, watching the parchment furl and blacken into ash.

*          *            *

            Malfoy Manor, perched at the edge of a lonely moor, was dark and cold even in the summertime. No one from the village had been to that chateau for nearly half a century. The station manager at the depot had been shocked to see a dark haired figure in a black cloak dismount from the train and walk the old overgrown path to the haunted mansion. The large flock of crows that blotted out the sky did not bother the peculiar traveler; nor did the creaking trees, all bare and brown, from where many more black birds hovering.

            The walk itself took three hours and night had long since set over the moor. Upon arriving at the tall spiked gate, Minerva McGonagall, feeling slightly guilty that she had simply left Hogwarts without leaving her friends any explanation, muttered the words that Severus had told her and watched the gates part open. 

At that moment, a large wolf-like dog bounded out of the gathering dusk, knocking her flat on her back. Unlike Fang's friendly overtures, there was a real menace in the dog's eyes, from his hot breath to his toothy snarl. Minerva didn't dare to push the one hundred pound dog off her chest.

            "Back, Angelia," a cold voice called, and the dog bounded off. "I thought you weren't going to show," said Lucius Malfoy casually, "Come in, Severus. Why, you've washed your hair."

            And thanks to a complicated Transfiguration, Minerva looked more or less like a tidier version of Severus Snape.  

            Lucius Malfoy snapped his fingers and a skeletal butler instantly appeared. "Vautours, show Master Snape to his room."

            Although Malfoy Manor was the epitome of luxury, Minerva felt a deep sense of oppression as suffocating as the heavy velvet curtains that encircled her bed. It was always there, whether it was Vautours kicking the house elves for spilling the morning coffee over the tablecloth or Lucius' minimal acknowledgement of his wife at dinner. Draco had expressed it, too, though accidentally, during a Potions lesson.

            "Sometimes, I hate my father," he fumed, "he expects me to follow in his footsteps, and he won't understand if I don't want to." (He wanted to become a movie director.) 

            Another frustration was that it seemed as if Lucius had called Severus Snape over to his house for no other reason than to discuss Draco's schoolwork. There was no mention of anything suspiciously or even remotely Dark, and certainly no mention of Voldemort or Dumbledore. From what Minerva could gather from her short (for suspicious Vautours was peering over her shoulder) explorations of the manor, there was no convention of Death Eaters who had responded to the Dark mark's call. But Lucius Malfoy would not let her return to Hogwarts either. This left her very uneasy.

            Then one morning, she came down to the dining room to find Lucius' seat at the head of the table to be empty. "I don't know where he is, or how long he'll be," said Narcissa in a monotone. "Why would he tell me? He never does."

            Minerva took Malfoy's leave as an authorization to start poking around, since Vautours was taking a day off since his master was not home. Delighted that there was no Potions lesson for the day, Draco left as soon as possible, shutting himself in his bedroom for the rest of the day. He had not bothered to say 'good morning' to his mother, and rarely spoke to her unless he was demanding something.

            Immediately, Minerva went to the corridor in the south wing. It was a long, dark corridor that led to even darker gloom. Vautours had caught her poking about once, frowned, and sent her away, leaving her more curious than ever to see what lay beyond the shadows.

            She found herself in an armory, a treasure hove of ancient swords and weapons. One rusty blade bore this inscription, "This is the sword of Hermod. May the rivulets of blood never cease to flow." 

Through the cobwebs illuminated by the pale, cold light, she could see a small door in the corner, flanked by two knights in armor welding axes. There were no cobwebs strewn across the doorway, and the hinges were well greased. 

After carefully removing the axes from the stone guards, she persuaded the doors to open and wandered down a sloping, wet tunnel that led to a bare room containing only a bookshelf by a large marble fireplace and a great portrait of some ancient forbearer with the cold, pinched expression of distain so often worn by Draco Malfoy. His dart-like eyes followed Minerva as she strode to the bookshelf and his mouth shifted into a deep frown.

"Why have you returned?" he wheezed, voice inflected with a trace of Middle English, "Haste back to Dumbledore, Severus Snape, if you can." Then, he cracked a dry, dead laugh. 

Minerva's head jerked up from a complete list of Malfoy's connections, several names that she recognized as offenders whose crimes were beyond the reach of the law.  

            "What did you say?"

            "You're such a imbecile, Severus."

            "Be silent, Stanus Malfoy." (For the name was inscribed at the bottom of the portrait.) "Now tell me, what have you seen these past few days?"

            The portrait of old Malfoy rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, looking oddly undignified. "Why should I tell you?"

            "I'm capable of the Imperious Curse," growled Minerva, hoping he wouldn't ask her to back her claim. "Don't try me."

            "You're still a true Death Eater," grinned the old man, clapping his hands in delight. "I wasn't sure if you still had it in you, after my great-great-great-great-great-great grandson told me you'd turned against us."

            Minerva felt sick with the thought that she could pass for a Death Eater. 

            "Just yesterday, we brought a line of men in. One of them had a stump leg. That one struggled like a manticore and it took McNair, Crabbe and Goyle to subdue him. It's a pity he's not on our side…at least, not yet. We could use Death Eaters like him…. he's bred from the good old stock…aye, pureblood. Wizards today are not what they used to be. Now, in my day…"

            The man's arrogant features softened as his memory drifted back to days gone past. "…and about a week ago, they brought this old man in, wearing a ridiculous purple robe. No wonder Dumbledore's folk are so easily beaten…only feeble men are left to fight for his cause. I don't see why Lucius had him doped up to the gills with the Draught of Living Death…he looks harmless enough. In my day, we'd didn't stoop to fight old men, but times have changed…."

*          *            *

            Upon arriving home, Lucius Malfoy yelled at the house elves after being nearly suffocated by Angelia, who was a very fine watchdog, except for the fact that she couldn't distinguish friend from foe. As usual, he couldn't find Narcissa, but she had probably shut herself up in her room like she usually did. He couldn't image how he had ever been attracted to that woman. Draco was who-knows-where, but he hoped that the disobedient boy hadn't snuck off to the movie theater again, which was full of filthy Muggles. The thought made him shudder in disgust. 

              His visit to Diagon Alley had been very rewarding, and his Master would be very pleased to hear of the progress the apprentice Death Eaters were making. (And Pettigrew didn't think they were capable.) After being shut in the vaults of Gringotts for several days without food or water, most of the wizards had surrendered. Weak  and vulnerable, they did not resist the Imperious Curse at all.

            The first disagreeable thing that happened (after the dog incident) was that Severus Snape was not there to celebrate their triumph with him. Where was that man?

            As he sped down the corridor, he noticed the door ajar in the Amory, and grabbed a sword, wondering what mischief was about in his house. Had Vautours wandered into the room and discovered his secret? Or worse, his wife?

            Panting fast, he rounded the corner and saw a stranger in front of the portrait of his great great great (oh, he didn't care how great) grandfather and swung his sword at the intruder.

            "How dare you!" 

            Lucius glanced at his sword and there was the bright stain of blood glittering upon the blade. Looking up, he saw Severus wince, clutching his side with blood red fingers. That wasn't whom he'd expected at all. 

            "Great gods! What are you doing _here_?"

            The blood continued to spill. Severus looked frightfully pale, and Lucius strode to the fireplace to summon Avery, the only Death Eater with medical knowledge.

            When he turned around again, he was even more surprised to see Severus gone and a woman in his place. His face curled into a sneer as he recognized the limp woman to be the person he hated the most in the world. After wiping his sword clean upon her bloodied robes, he walked out of the room and shut the door with a thud.

            The portrait of Stanus Malfoy shook his head sadly, thinking, _In my day…_

A/N:

Thanks to all who reviewed and sorry this chapter took so long. I had trouble moving the story along…there are so many tangents waiting to be explored when a stranger (like Professor McGonagall) is placed in an unfamiliar, creeping old house. But it doesn't really feel that creepy, does it? Anyways, please feel free to critique and offer suggestions…suggestions are good. 


	6. Malfoy Manners

Disclaimer: Having suddenly realized that I haven't given credit to Ms. Rowling, I do so now. Whoops, sorry.

Pricking Achille's Heel

Lucius paid a daily visit to his dungeons. Ignoring the frigid air, he headed towards the great Albus Dumbledore's cell. 

            The man hardly looked like the greatest wizard alive. He was tossing and turning, mumbling in his sleep. Five minutes later, he was smiling and humming, and Lucius couldn't help wondering what sort of fantastical nightmare Lord Voldemort had concocted for the Muggle-lover. 

As Pettigrew had explained pompously to Malfoy, "Albus Dumbledore is a genius. And there's such a fine line between that and insanity. Blur reality and fantasy into one giant gray ball and…"

Peter gave Lucius a hefty shove. He sounded like he was repeated Voldemort, word for word.  

            "How many times has he woken up today?" Lucius asked a house elf, who was covered in purple goose bumps that made him look uglier than ever.

            "Four, sir."       

            "Then double his potion. Give him a full tankard of the Draught of Living Death. We have to keep him confused until…."

             After glaring at the house elf for no reason, Malfoy headed towards Moody's cell. As of yet, Voldemort didn't have any specific plans for him, so for the moment he, like Dumbledore, was kept out of the way. It surprised Lucius that Voldemort had not killed either men yet, causing him to wonder how they could possibly be of any use to the Dark Lord. Malfoy knew from experience that opponents were best off dead.

            Finally, he approached the last cell, empty for the moment. After commanding another house elf to put a dab of anti-Animagus brew into the water, he checked the Monitor to make sure it was working and left.

*          *          *

News of the outside world had ground to a halt at Hogwarts. The _Prophet_ hadn't been delivered for days, the radio was dead, and the Floo Network had been completely dismantled. Apart from Wallace's ominous report, no one was sure what was happening inside London, which was barricaded by the Death Eaters. 

            The silence worried Remus. 

            Wallace Whitman sat in the library, absentmindedly reading an Internet article, chugging soda, and staring out the window at five-minute intervals. 

            Madame Maxime and Hagrid had snuck off into the Forbidden Forest to consult the centaurs, but they were undeniably taking longer than necessary, although Wallace wasn't sure that the Forbidden Forest was the best spot for a romantic interlude. And out on the Quidditch field, Professor Flitwick was showing the Weasley kids how to do inverted loop-the-loops and other daring aerial feats on broomsticks. 

             Sighing, he typed a few more words into his laptop, waited, crushed his soda can, and turned off the computer. Tucking it under his arm, he decided to visit Severus Snape up in the Infirmary.

            "What do you want?" came Snape's sour voice. Being bedridden for an indefinite amount of time did not promote cheeriness.

            "Look, I brought you something."

            "It's Muggle," Snape said distainfully, looking at the computer as if it were spoilt yogurt drizzled in ketchup. "Why would I want it?"

            "I'm not giving it to you!" muttered Wallace, as he turned the device on and typed in a pass code. "I'm just trying to make your sick stay more bearable."

            "How kind of you," said Severus, not even trying to sound like he meant it.

            "I'm bringing the outside world in," said Wallace, as the machine began to beep and whine. He typed in another password, and then a third. "There's a wealth of information on the Net, and I'm sure there are tech wizs enough in Diagon Alley who can give us a clue of what's going on with You-Know-Who and all."

            "You mean Voldemort?" Snape's voice was daring.

            "Yeah, Voldemort," said Wallace, maneuvering the built in mouse of his computer. "Since I was only two when he was at the height of his power, and six during his downfall, I'm not frightened of him much. He's just a piece of history, except that he's back now."

            Something big whooshed over his head, the wind ruffling pleasantly past his neck. A large black owl with a letter in its claw had perched itself comfortably on top of the screen. 

            "Get off of that! You'll scratch it," yelled Wallace, as he ran to fetch Fawke's spare perch. Before Professor McGonagall had left, she had made sure that Dumbledore's bird was well cared for by Madame Pomfrey.  

            Severus Snape was more interested in the letter, as it was addressed to him. There was no seal and no name, but he recognized the dagger-like lettering that indubitably belonged to Lucius Malfoy. Despite the cool and smug tone of the letter, the shaking penmanship suggested that Malfoy had been furious when he'd been writing this letter.

            He looked up to find the Whitman boy peering over his shoulder, his great brown eyes straining to read the print.

            "Do you mind?" said Snape coldly, folding the letter in half.

            "Er…not at all," said Wallace, his gaze now fixed uncomfortably on the monitor. "Oh, look here!"

            "What now."

            Angling the laptop so that the irate Potions master could see the screen, Wallace showed how he'd entered the chat room of a site called "_Gandalf Lives…duh!_" where many of the techie wizards liked to convene online. 

            "I've signed you on as SnapetheApe. Hmmm…**Ozman314** says the werewolves are snatching people from the streets and locking them up in Gringotts. Dementers are posted all about the city…no one can get in or out except the D.E.'s. **ManicMerlin** guesses that You-Know-Who's raised an army of—no way—five thousand…but **ManicMerlin** always exaggerates." 

            "Let me see," said Snape, who greedily snatched the Muggle device from Wallace. As he changed his username, Snape decided that the Whitman boy, who was now petting the black owl, wasn't so bad after all.

*          *          *

            Vault 919 smelled of stale air, beef jerky, and sweat, among other things. Early on in their imprisonment, the captives had decided to partition off a small corner to be reserved for natural bodily functions, by Arabella's advice. To keep spirits high, Mundungus passed around his jumbo stash of beef jerky and told as many jokes about the Ministry as he knew. But even that got old.

            "Why haven't they come for us, yet?" muttered Molly, her head resting on Arthur's shoulder.   

            "Perhaps we're not downtrodden and miserable enough for the Imperius curse to be effective," hazarded her husband.

            "Yes we are."

            "We could," grinned Arabella, "pretend to be languishing in desolate despondency." 

            Three days with no food nor water in metal vault had not dampened her spirits. The woman was indomitable, unsinkable. Molly bet that she'd be jovial even in Azkaban, except that Azkaban had been reduced to rubble.

            On the fifth day, the Dementors came in, along with several wobbly-kneed Death Eaters. As every pleasant memory dissipated from recollection, Molly felt ready to surrender.  

            "We've brought you hot meals and drinks," said the Death Eater, as a company of house elves entered with fragrant trays of steaming food, "before we are to negotiate the terms of surrender."

                "Don't touch that," whispered Arabella, as she yanked Mundungus Fletcher back, "You greedy hog, your belly is full from beef jerky."

            "Pretend you're eating it," said Molly, and they followed her plan.

            Just as Arabella suspected, the food had been laced with some sort of sleeping potion. As they played along, Arabella tousled her hair just enough so that it covered her eyes like a veil.

            The whole room was full of sleeping wizards, and she saw from the corner of her eyes the Death Eaters looming over a snoring witch. He muttered, "_Imperio_", and then "awaken." She opened her eyes slowly, mesmerized. 

            "Good morning. Who do you serve? Who is your leader?" 

            "You-Know…Voldemort."

            "It's Lord Voldemort."

            "Oh, yes, of course."

            The Death Eater smiled. "This is too easy."

            They went on. Arabella realized they were going to have to fight the curse, just like everyone else, but at least they hadn't been weakened by whatever the Death Eaters had put in the food. Resolving to trust no one, not even herself, until she overcame the curse, Arabella waited until they get neared her. 

            Biting her tongue, she pledged her loyalties, feeling a great sense of self-loathing tinged with desperation. As Mundungus, Molly, and Arthur did the same, she caught the look of trapped repulsion in their eyes. _It's a race_, she told herself, _to see who beats the curse first_. 

            _No, no_, said another voice, _not at all. Being a brainwashed slave is not so bad. You ought to be tickled pink to be in the service of Lord Voldemort. After all, he was so kind to spare you…_

*          *          *

            "I don't believe it," yelled Sirius, when he heard from the Whitman boy that Voldemort's army had just steam-rolled over Oxford. The Rubix cube was whirling like a top in his hands. Remus didn't see how Sirius could possibly solve it if he was just arbitrarily twisting it around as fast as he could.

            "How did he possibly build up his army so fast?" wondered Remus, slowly sitting down. "Five thousand. Five thousand wand wielding wizards!"

            "We ought to do something," muttered Sirius, "Ever since Dumbledore left, we've been plagued by inaction."

            "You're being a firebrand," said Flitwick, who was passing by. "Hagrid and Madame Maxime have been advised to appeal to the giants again. We can't do anything without more support."

            Remus thought for a moment. "I think Professor Flitwick is right. Voldemort is taking a different approach. Before, he operated on suspicion and fear to terrorize the world; now he uses sheer force."

            "Where is Professor McGonagall when you need her? She could plot some brilliant tactical ploy for us to use."

            "Severus said she's gone to France and the United States to plead for aid."

            "Then why aren't they responding? Voldemort's moving north. He could be here in weeks, Remus."

            His Rubix cube clicked into place, revealing a totally blue top layer. 

            "What do you have in mind then, a counterstrike?" said Remus slowly.

            Sirius laughed grimly. "It'll be like old days, Moony. Come on."

*          *          *

A small ring of veteran Death Eaters stood in an empty room. They were considered Voldemort's inner circle, having supported the Dark Lord from the start, but none of them had even seen Voldemort, much less heard from him, since the Triwizarding Tournament. Instead Pettigrew relayed all Voldemort's orders, as he was the Dark Lord's confidant and nanny, as some called him behind his back. Only Wormtail had the slightest inkling of what Voldemort was planning.

            "We haven't done anything," complained Gregory Avery, "no raids, no curses. I miss the thrill of midnight terrorism, the ecstasy that comes with firing Unforgivable after Unforgivable, the satisfaction of Muggle torture."

            "Be patient," said the scratchy voice of Peter Pettigrew, "We've relocated a group of Spellologist from Oxford. All efforts will be bent on their indoctrination."

            "What good is a bunch of nerds?" asked Goyle, flexing his muscles for no reason at all. "They're not going to breath fear into the Muggles."

            "Honestly Goyle, Muggle torture is old. We've moved on to more important things," said Pettigrew. "They will be used to research new curses."

            Lucius, who used to be Voldemort's favorite, felt that the rat was being too proud of his newfound importance. The man used to be a cowering wimp, now he was Voldemort's slave; how dare Pettigrew give such airs!

            "Then I suppose," he said to Peter coldly, "his Lordship, who esteems you so, must have certainly informed you told us of the infiltrator we've just apprehended."

            A tinge of red told Malfoy that he was not aware of this. Resuming his role of leader once more, Lucius smiled maliciously at the obsequious toady.

            "Who?"

            "Oh, an old friend. One of Dumbledore's."

            "And he got through disguised as Severus Snape? How did he outsmart your system?" Pettigrew shot Lucius a triumphant look.

            Lucius rolled his eyes. "With magic."

            "Well I can't wait," said Crabbe, rubbing his hands excitedly, "Let's torture him and make him tell us everything Dumbledore is planning!"

            "You idiot," muttered Goyle under his breath, "Dumbledore hasn't been planning anything ever since we've locked him up. Honestly, you nitwit."

            "Don't make fun of me, Goyle," muttered his large counterpart tearfully. "I thought you were my friend."

            "Tell you what, why don't we pay the captive a visit, eh?" said Wormtail soothingly. "Maybe you can even torture him."

            "Her," corrected Lucius

            "Same difference," said Avery, "It's not like we're picky."

            "You made us think it was a man," complained Pettigrew. "Who is it, then?"

            "Are you disappointed it's not Sirius Black? Well, it is another old acquaintance of yours. I believe she was your Transfiguration professor."        

*          *          *

            The first thing Minerva McGonagall saw when she opened her eyes was a blurry gray ceiling. But even before she opened her eyes, she was aware of three things. First and most importantly, she was alive, but tied down to whatever she was resting upon, probably a table. Then, the weight of failure and disappointment hit her. She hadn't been able to keep her disguise and she hadn't brought Albus Dumbledore safely back to Hogwarts. And finally, there was a sense of relief that the Portkey was still hidden, that she could escape at any time if she had to.

            No. That Portkey pinned to her collar was for Dumbledore.      

            There was the sound of footsteps approaching, and Minerva couldn't help feeling anxious, especially since she was tied up, and without her wand and glasses. 

            "Good afternoon, Miss McGonagall," came a cold drawling voice, slightly deeper than Draco's. Lucius Malfoy turned to his gang of Death Eaters. "You can go now."

            Crabbe's eager face fell. "I thought we were going to torture her."

            "Later," said Goyle, dragging his pouting friend out of the room.

            "Very well. Now, Miss McGonagall, it is not everyday that the Severus Snape you invited to your house is actually Minerva McGonagall disguised as a man, is it? I'm very interested as to why you are here."

            Minerva didn't give a response and Malfoy didn't expect one. He was having a hard enough time being civil, not that he needed to.

            "No matter. Do you really think that your pathetic, leaderless band of freaks will be able to stop Lord Voldemort?"

            "A baby boy incapable of magic defeated him."

            "We have the Dementors, the werewolves, the vampires, the banshees, the yetis, and the trolls on our side. You don't even have the backing of the Ministry, even when it existed. You've always been on the wrong side, Minerva McGonagall."

            "That pure blood banter is getting old. Wizards like you give decent pure-blood families a bad reputation."

            "Those Muggle-lovers disgrace themselves, consorting with Mudbloods like you." Malfoy was shaking with anger now; a crazed look lit his pale blue eyes. This was clearly a subject he felt strongly about. "But you're worse than that. You're orphan scum. You ought to be roaming the streets, picking through garbage cans for your next meal. You don't deserve a wand; you don't deserve to teach wizards."

            Minerva goaded him. "I teach your son."

            Malfoy was shrieking now. "I remember you at Hogwarts. You couldn't even read when Dumbledore brought you there. All the teachers pitied you; all the kids hated you."

            He wiped the sweat out of his eyes. In this instant, Minerva became a cat and darted out the door.

            Without really knowing where to go, she dashed through the twisty corridors, memorizing as many landmarks as she could, when she suddenly found herself in the freezing cold dungeons.

            The sight of an old man ranting and shivering in a cell made her stop. He looked at her with a benign and befuddled expression on his face.

            "Why Minerva, what a pleasant surprise to see you in my dream!" Then, he went off to chat with an imaginary Hagrid while petting a nonexistent Fang.

            Minerva swallowed hard, trying not to cry at the sight of a broken and rambling Dumbledore. She didn't want to know what they'd done to him.

            At that moment, a violent kick sent her sprawling into the hard rocky wall. Minerva struggled to stay in cat form. 

            "Don't be mean to the kitty," came Dumbledore's voice.

            Lucius whipped his wand and Dumbledore collapsed back into slumber. Malfoy snatched the cat by the scruff of her neck; twisting, she gave him a deep scratch that drew bright red beads of blood. 

            "Not a wise move," growled Malfoy, smacking the cat with his hand, which worked better than a Stunning spell. He threw her into the empty cell. 

            Although he'd promised Crabbe a chance to practice his Unforgivables, Lucius Malfoy didn't feel like waiting or sharing. Carelessly waving his wand, he forced Minerva back into her original form. Another flick of his wand had her chained to the wall. As he surveyed the Mudblood, whose face was set in resolute defiance, he couldn't help feeling the rush of adrenaline that Avery had described earlier. What thrill it would be to make her scream, flinch, and squirm. 

_A/N: Sorry some of that felt kind of lame. I did my best to avoid having to actually describe any torture scenes. Those come out particularly stiff and unreal.  _


	7. The Glass Dome

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the author, that lucky lady.

Pricking Achille's Heel: Chapter VII 

Peter Pettigrew's bald head poked into the dungeon and coughed imperiously several times, clearly pleased with whatever message he had to deliver. Visibly affronted, Lucius tried to ignore the rat and raised his wand with a Tormenting spell ready.

            "I can't allow you to continue," said Pettigrew smugly, enjoying Lucius' reaction. The haughty man looked injured beyond repair.

            "I hadn't even gotten started," muttered Lucius. Readjusting his expression so that he maintained some semblance of dignity, he raised his wand again. 

            "It's too bad you never take me seriously," said Peter mournfully, shaking his baldhead in disapproval. "You know, we do work for the same cause."

            "You're disrupting my fun," said Lucius, warningly. "Go away before I _crucio_ you."

            "I wouldn't do that," Peter said, as he took undid Minerva McGonagall's chains with a flick of his wrist. Lucius Malfoy was too shocked to respond; he could only splutter like a goldfish.

            Peter Pettigrew latched his hand around Malfoy's wrist and yanked. "Don't look so glum. I came to tell you we're going on a little trip. It'll be fun."

            He gave a cheery half wave. "So long, Professor."

            She must have been too relieved to respond.

*          *            *

            The moon was nearly full, but not for another three days. This was great news to Remus Lupin, who at the moment, was trying to land his broomstick in the wooded area that curtained around the nearby village. While the village itself was very small and unimportant, it did house the famous museum on the hill (built by the wealthy Dr. Ippen Einkash), which contained several acclaimed galleries of medieval wizarding apparatus.

            Sirius readjusted his binoculars, focusing in on the view. "There are four Death Eaters patrolling the premises. It looks like the rest of them are raiding the museum…I can see seven lumpy shadows guarding the entrances."

            Remus took a look for himself. "They've got a large flying coach to cart away the goods."            

            "Do you know what they're after?"

            "Probably that great wand collection of famous wizards, including several nasty Dark ones. Don't know why he needs it though."

            Sirius thought for a moment. "It might have something to do with Harry's wand…sharing the same feather and all."

            Nodding, Lupin put down his binoculars. "Sirius, while I take out the patrols, you can go in to the museum from the back, and see what they're up to. We'll meet in the gallery, from opposite ends." 

            In answer, Sirius bounded into the disguise of a black squirrel, scrabbled up a tree, and leapt from branch to branch until he'd reached the hill where the museum was situated.

            A Death Eater strolled casually beneath the trees, unaware of Sirius Black's presence. The squirrel became a man, the man cast a silent spell, and there was a soft thud as the unconscious Death Eater fell onto the neatly trimmed lawn. Bounded and gagged, he was dumped in a nearby shrub. The squirrel leaped onto the roof and disappeared into the darkness.

*          *            *

            "You know what," said Wallace, as he drummed his fingers along the Infirmary counter, causing Fawkes to squawk in annoyance. "I've been thinking."

            "Have you," said Snape sourly. He had been worrying and wondering why Professor McGonagall wasn't back yet. She probably meant to spite him.

            "Yes, of course," said Wallace, undiscouraged by Snape's indifferent tone, "Check this book out."

            "It's a Muggle aviation book. Good for them."

            "No, Severus, look!"

            "The planes are flying in formation. Good for them."

            "But look what they can do!"

            "Drop bombs. Good for them. I suppose you want to hire Muggle pilots to fight against Voldemort? Drop a hydrogen bomb on him."

            Wallace gave Snape the peculiarist of stares. "No-o. Wizard battles have been fought primarily on the ground, hand-to-hand, with wands. Now, suppose we form our own sort of air force by putting wizards on broomsticks, enough to do formations and that sort of thing. Imagine the befuddlement we'd cause if our troops attacked from the air."

            "This isn't _Star Wars_," said Snape haughtily, then scowled at admitting he'd watched the Muggle movie. "Besides, where will we get these troops?"

            Wallace had anticipated the question. "People are going to start swarming into Hogwarts. You just wait and see; they're running away from Voldemort's army, who will attack us sooner or later. There will be troops enough."

            "So where did you get this idea?"

            "Oh, by watching Professor Flitwick play Quidditch. The loop-the-loops and all."

            Snape nodded his approval. "Not bad."

            There was a loud commotion, and Wallace heard the Weasley kids raising a fuss. Sirius burst into the Infirmary levitating an unconscious and bound Mrs Weasley, with the twins, Ginny, and Ron trailing close behind.

            "What happened?"

            "Why's Mum so pale?"

            "Where's Dad?"

            Ron put a hand on his mother's shoulder, but Sirius pushed him unceremoniously away. "Stay back, all of you!" he growled, as he went off to rumble at Madam Pomfrey. 

            The Weasleys did not need to eavesdrop to hear. 

            "It was dark…she attacked Remus—he'll be fine—probably under the Imperius spell…I had to fight her…safest thing is to keep her sedated for now…can't trust her yet…"

*          *            *

            Left alone in her cell, Minerva found herself with more than plenty of time for thought. What did You-Know-Who want with Dumbledore? They were keeping him alive; she could hear him talking in his sleep, raving sometimes. And what about Moody? Sometimes, the Death Eaters came to take him away, to torture him. He was always unconscious by the time they were through with him. They were trying to break him. 

            But, thought Minerva with relief, as she rolled a small rock in her palm, they've forgotten about me. Suddenly, a tiny surge of magic came to her, and she transfigured it into a mouse, then a butterfly, and after chasing it around the room, she caught it and transfigured it into a lump of wax. Then, the pulse of magic faded and Minerva found herself feeling very much like a Squib again without her wand.

            Bored out of her mind, she idly molded the wax into a kestrel, wishing she was anywhere but trapped in Malfoy's dungeon with nothing to do. She had tried to occupy her mind with something productive, such as plotting escape routes or envisioning herself beating the daylights out of Lucius Malfoy. Lately, she had been mentally tossing around the old double Animagus idea.

            This transfiguration was one of the few acts of magic that could be performed without a wand. She decided on something small, inconspicuous, but practical, like a sparrow. Besides, ever since she'd been a child, she had always wanted to fly away…

"Get out of my mind, Tom. You can't hurt me in my dream," came a faint mumble.    

            "Professor Dumbledore?" she called angrily, knowing full well that he was experiencing a hideous nightmare that the Death Eaters had mixed into his Draught. "Professor, wake up!" 

            She heard his voice shake with frustration. "Minerva…please…stop it!" He was crying.

            "Professor Dumbledore, please, wake up!"

            Just as he jerked awake, the sound of footsteps told her the Death Eaters had entered the dungeons. 

            "How is my dear Professor doing?" sneered a thin, cold voice. "I heard you weren't sleeping well…perhaps my Spellogist should run some tests on you, to make sure you're sound."

            "Yeah, he looks a bit peaky, don't you think?"

            "And the stench! Look at Albus Dumbledore, the world's greatest wizard, huddling in filth."

            "You're looking very lost, Professor," continued that voice, eerie and emotionless. "'_Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music;--Do I wake or sleep?'_ That is a very good question."

            "Get out of my mind, Tom. You can't hurt me in my dream."            

            "Is that so?" said the voice, as Goyle grunted in laughter. "Lucius, bring McGonagall here."

            "Yes, Master."

            "No need to fret, Professor. As you said, no one gets hurt in a dream." He nodded at Malfoy. "Please." 

Lucius pointed his wand at Minerva, while Crabbe and Goyle pinned her down. "_Crucio!_"

            "No…not again…" Dumbledore sounded so lost. "Minerva! Please…stop it!"        

            Crabbe laughed at the sight of a sobbing Dumbledore, but Pettigrew looked away, ashamed. 

            Minerva was breathing hard. "Albus, you're awake."

            Hoping to shut her up, Malfoy gave her a swift kick in the ribs. 

            "This isn't a dream, Albus," Minerva shouted furiously through gritted teeth. "Do something!"

            Before the Death Eaters could react, Dumbledore had sprung up, punched Malfoy in the stomach and snapped his offensive wand in two. The curse lifted immediately. 

            "_Stupify_!" shouted Voldemort and Dumbledore fell to the ground. "Sleep tight."

His voice became brisk. "Bite your tongue off, Malfoy, and stop bawling over your wand. Crabbe and Goyle, I want you two to guard Dumbledore's cell. Make sure he is kept heavily drugged at all times. And don't you slack off; that man's more dangerous now than ever." 

            He turned to McGonagall. "You, come with me."

            Feeling more than uneasy, Minerva tried to read the tone of his voice, but it gave nothing away. After many turns and a series of stairs, they reached a wide platform that encircled what seemed to be an arena, completely sealed by a tall glass dome. It looked like half a round fish tank or half a hamster ball; the word "cage" flashed into Minerva's mind. As they walked along the platform, they passed many wizards and witches in white lab coats, who looked up from their scrolls of scribbled theories and experiments. 

            "Ah yes," said Voldemort, "my researchers. You could have been one, had you pursued that study after Hogwarts. And," he said to the Spellogists, "there will be an informal Spectacle; you make take notes if you wish."

            They approached a black door that lead to the glass cage. Minerva found herself facing Voldemort, her back against the door, feeling very cornered. He took out his wand, and she braced herself, but all he did was Summon a thick manila folder. Opening it very slowly, he began to read.

            "Minerva McGonagall. Profession: teacher of Transfiguration. Born in Scotland. Your father, a Squib, was a fisherman, and your mother had absolutely no magic in her. At the tender age of three, you set your house on fire, causing the death of both your parents—very impressive magic for a toddler, eh? Chased out of the village, you made your way to Edinburgh, where you roamed the streets for six years disguised as a boy. One day at a pub, you turned one Mr. Jerkins into a slug; in consequence, they sent you to a mental hospital…"

            "Give me that file." Her face froze into a mask of fury.     

            "…until you were rescued by one Albus Dumbledore, where you started your education at Hogwarts two years early. Your classmates describe you as an angry child with an uncontrollable temper, so of course you had few friends…"

            "Leave my past alone. That's none of your business." She made a lunge for the folder that contained her history in encyclopedia-detail. 

            "Touchy subject, eh?"

            "I've gotten over that a long time ago."

            "Really," said Voldemort, with a wave of his wand. The black doors parted open, and Minerva found herself falling—no, drifting—into the glass arena.

            Voldemort shut the doors with another flick of the wrist. "The Spectacle has begun."

*          *            *

            From where she stood, Minerva could see the Spellogists peering eagerly into the dome, their notepads and quills in hand. They were expecting something, but what? Scanning the grounds, she suddenly saw a large metal door lift, and streams upon streams of black hooded beings poured into the room. Dementors.

            Minerva ran to the glass and pounded it, kicked it, hoped it would shatter. But she was trapped. The suffocating frost permeated the air, but her panicked mind stayed alert.

            Her first thought was to conjure a Patronus without her wand. It failed miserable, and from above, she could hear Voldemort's amused laughter. Bolts of anger shot through her system, and her concentration was lost.

            The Dementors formed three rings around her, and closed steadily in. A ghastly memory slowly surfaced to her mind. She knew now why Voldemort had gone through the trouble of unearthing the childhood she had tried to forget.

            Voldemort watched this scene with satisfaction. The woman was now on her knees, pulling herself into a tiny ball, like a child frightened of the dark.

            A memory floated through Minerva's mind. 

_"Can Dementors be killed?"_ Sirius had asked, when long, long, ago, they discovered that Azkaban had been breached.

Her mind went numb. She could not remember the answer to Sirius' question.

A Dementor picked the limp woman up by the scruff of her collar. "This is the end," sighed a researcher, slamming his notebook shut.

As she dangled in the Dementor's grasp, Minerva could see into the blackness behind the hood. She was smother in despair, not even bothering to breath anymore when suddenly, she latched onto a joyful thought: the day she'd met Dumbledore. The day she'd left the hospital.

Mulling over every single wonderful detail, Minerva looked the Dementor straight into the eye, sharing that memory with it. It was so stunned it dropped her. The despair abated ever so slightly.

A researcher scribbled hastily into her notepad, "Dementors in unnatural state of ecstasy. Disoriented gliding, clumsy movements, backing away from subject. Others are advancing, yet retreat with look of shock."

Minerva McGonagall was also surprised by the Dementor's reaction. She fed them memory after memory.

The Dementors were experiencing more life than they'd ever felt before. They tasted the forty-two hundred different flavors of sweets at Honeydukes. They balanced precariously and fearlessly on high rooftops as a cat. They cried for joy when Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup.

"That's nineteen minutes, twenty-two seconds, she's lasted," remarked the researcher, still scrawling into his notebook. "A record."

He scrutinized the test subject, who was shaking weakly, bathed in sweat, but still standing. Another minute passed and suddenly, there was a burst of lights that swept through the dome and shattered the glass. The Dementor was gone; only tatters of cloak remained.

Voldemort felt ferociously excited, a feeling that he hadn't had since he'd discovered his Chamber of Secrets. "Bring Albus Dumbledore to me."

His experiment had been wildly successful. He was going to be the greatest wizard in the history of the world.

_A/N: Sorry that chapter took so very long to write. Please review to state your opinions, suggestions or points of dissent. I'd appreciate that a lot. By the way, I started writing this before Order of the Phoenix came out so I'm going to continue, despite the fact that I'm straying from Potterverse.  _


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